""Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan"" sneaks in more belly laughs in its brisk 82 minutes than, well, anything in recent or distant memory. It's subversive, hyper-intelligent, fearless, merciless satire—a movie that effortlessly transcends its small-screen roots to skewer the dregs and bigotry of American society in the funniest manner imaginable.
Borat Sagdiyev (Sacha Baron Cohen), an intensely likable and friendly Kazakhstani journalist whose moronic prejudices (against women and Jews in particular) offset his ingratiating charm, was the highlight of ""Da Ali G Show."" His awkward interactions are forever priceless because he always elicits a response from his clueless victims, from celebrities to streetwalkers.
The most scathing of Borat's interactions occur in the South. ""Borat"" is an extremely funny movie, but it also qualifies as an essential, disturbing social document at times: moments where a rodeo manager jovially admits he feels homosexuals should be executed and a ""high-society"" dinner along a street called Secession Drive are downright horrifying: returning from the restroom with a bag of your feces is acceptable, but inviting a black person over is just over the line.
Some of the targets are obvious—it isn't all that surprising that a dumbass frat boy would admit he's ""better than a woman"" or that women ""don't have my respect""—but ""Borat"" reveals ignorance in all walks of life. A scene in which he offends a group of feminists (""give me a smile, pussycat"") is a shining example; instead of engaging him in an insightful dialogue about his misguided assumptions, they immediately walk away. Apparently huffing off to wallow in their pomposity is an easier solution.
Basically, everybody gets theirs, and it's a thing of beauty. Borat's venomous thoughts toward Gypsies and Jews are arguably the most hilarious (which is delectably ironic, considering that Cohen himself is Jewish), although it's hard to pick out a funniest moment. In a few instances, ""Borat"" verges on mean-spirited—a drivers ed instructor comes across more uncomfortable and dorky than ignorant—but never quite gets there.
But the most remarkable thing about ""Borat"" is how skillfully it integrates the authentic interviews and reactions with the narrative thread. Borat and his overweight producer Azamat (Ken Davitian, also hilarious), travel to America to make a documentary, although their professional responsibilities get increasingly derailed by Borat's unrequited love for Pamela Anderson. ""Borat"" is tied together with traditional montage sequences accompanied by some of the most emblematic pop-rock songs of American cinema (""Everybody's Talkin'"" and ""Born to Be Wild"" conjure up memories of ""Midnight Cowboy"" and ""Easy Rider,"" respectively), and it follows a cookie-cutter arc as Borat convinces Azamat to travel from New York to California, where he will, God willing, ""make sexytime explosion on Pamela's stomach."" In short, ""Borat"" is not a hastily strung-together collection of sketches a la most ""SNL"" films, but a succinct, plot-driven narrative that justifies itself as a movie. ""It's Pat,"" this ain't.
The Kazakhstani government that has decried this movie as an inaccurate depiction of their country is missing the point, as is anybody who gets offended or affronted by this movie in any way. ""Borat"" uses Cohen's fictionalized Kazakhstan and perfectly articulated persona to rip the United States a new one and expose intolerance's implications in ways Paul Haggis and his inexplicable, grotesquely undeserved Best Picture Oscar could only dream of. This film proves that you can strike a much stronger blow against racism, sexism, xenophobia, etc. with damning, Swiftian comedy than sanctimonious, simplified drivel. If ""The Departed"" hadn't come out, ""Borat"" would automatically be the best movie of the year. You owe it to yourself as an American to see this movie, recommend it to every soul you know, and see it again and again. ""Borat"" and the virtuoso comic brilliance of Sacha Baron Cohen are here to stay.
